


The Art of Falling in Love

by floatingaway4



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: AU, Alex is an actor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Henry is a gay art history major, M/M, lots of LGBTQ art history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28302234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingaway4/pseuds/floatingaway4
Summary: Alex Claremont-Diaz is a struggling actor, but his next role might be his big break. To research the role, his agent connects him with her friend at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The employee assigned to show him around annoys Alex before they even meet.Will they ever learn to get along?(Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes they will.)This story is completely written and will update every other day.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 177
Kudos: 182
Collections: The Firstprince Secret Snowflake Exchange





	1. Being a fucking stereotype pays the bills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tedddylupin/gifts).



> REQUEST: Something angsty and fluffy, maybe where Henry isn’t famous but Alex still is?
> 
> Kathleen, I REALLY freaked out when I got your name. I hope you like this! I included some references specifically for you, based on one of your recent stories...
> 
> Also, I couldn’t find any reason for Philip to exist in this story, so he doesn’t.
> 
> Thank you to Rooster_Crow and allmylovesatonce for being the best betas!!
> 
> For the RWRB Discord Server: [RWRB Discord Server: A Grey Area](https://discord.gg/JwardtVJRV)

“It’s all about representation, you know? I’m not taking any more roles where I’m a drug dealer or some immigrant working a construction job and fighting to stay in the country.” Alex crosses his arms and shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not going to just be a fucking stereotype.” 

“Being a ‘fucking stereotype’ pays the bills,” his agent tells him. He glares at her and she puts her hands up defensively. “Look, I get it. But breaking new ground takes time, Alex.” Nora looks down at her screen, reading over the call for auditions. “I mean, I can put you up for it, I just don’t know if you’re the type they’re looking for.” 

Nora’s been his agent since she first discovered Alex doing regional theater in Texas. He trusts her, more than he trusts most people in this business. A lot of agents have a reputation for being cold and heartless, but she’s not like that. Or maybe she is and Alex is naive, but, well, he still trusts her. 

“I”m never the type they’re looking for, Nora. Not as the leading man. You know that,” he shrugs. 

Nora looks down at her laptop screen again and taps a few keys. “Okay, look, I’ll submit you for the lead. But no promises.” 

Alex really wants this part. It’s nerdy and cerebral and a little bit of an action hero, too. He knows it’s a ripoff of the DaVinci Code movies, but he doesn’t care that much, it’s still a great role. This guy who works in a museum and spends his time examining old paintings or whatever suddenly realizes one of the paintings holds the key to a murder. Alex would get to look smart and studious but he would also get to run around with a gun and drive fast and they might even let him do his own stunts. 

He really, _really_ wants this part. 

A week later, Nora calls to tell him she got him an audition. He goes in for the first read and has his sides memorized. He wears wire-rimmed glasses and a jacket with patches at the elbows, trying to go for the intellectual look. 

He sees them looking at his headshot and credits when he comes in. He wishes his resume had more than bit parts and a couple of guest-starring bad guys on second-tier network dramas. Even a small Netflix gig could be something meaty he could parlay into a bigger role. 

It’s always hard to tell with casting people, but they don’t seem to hate him. They let him get all the way through the two pages of dialogue they assigned. 

He’s not entirely surprised when he gets a call back two weeks later. 

Well, maybe a little. 

Nora excitedly tells him he’s one of about ten people in the second round. 

“You know, if you could do some research into the role, get a real persona down for the character, that might help you make it to the final round.” He hears her keyboard clicking. “Let me make some calls.” 

Of course, Nora knows everyone who's everyone in New York City. About two hours later, he gets an email. 

**FW: FW: FW: FW: Actor research request**

He scrolls through Nora’s original email, asking someone with a big title and lots of letters after their name, if Alex can have a private tour of the Met and meet some of the employees. He feels like a kid whose mom has signed permission for him to go on a field trip. 

He can see where Nora originally contacted the Director of the museum, who wrote back to her in a way that makes Alex think they must be old friends. He assures Nora that they will take good care of her client. The rest of the email is forwards, filtering down through several Deputy Directors and vice presidents. Jesus, the Met has as many people in leadership as the US government. Alex keeps scrolling until he gets to someone without a big title, who asks in his email: 

**_Does anyone feel like babysitting an actor?_ **

The only reply is from [ hfox@metmuseum.org ](mailto:hfox@metmuseum.org)

**_Christ. I will if I have to, but I won’t enjoy it._ **

And somehow, this whole, ridiculous email chain got attached to Nora’s email, and then forwarded to Alex. 

“Fuck.” 

Now he’s going to feel like an idiot. He’s obviously an inconvenience, and no one wants him there. 

But he _really_ wants this part...and if it gives him an edge at the audition...

Reluctantly, he scrolls back to the top of the email and punches the director’s number into his phone. The guy fawns over Alex and kisses his ass, and Alex is glad he’s not on video chat so he can roll his eyes. 

“One of our senior associates, Dr. Henry Fox, has agreed to meet you at the 5th Avenue entrance on Tuesday at nine a.m. The museum is closed to the public on Tuesday and Wednesday so that should allow you to see anything you need to.” 

Alex wants to say he’s more interested in meeting the staff than in looking at the art, but he needs to do both, really. He’ll just wait and discuss the details with the guy who’s showing him around. He scrolls back through the email and realizes Dr. Henry Fox must be [ Hfox@metmuseum.org ](mailto:Hfox@metmuseum.org). He takes a chance and finds that some of the employees have bios on the Met website. Of course, this guy came from England and went to Oxford and is just generally perfect and brilliant. And based on his photo, he’s not ugly, either. 

Alex already hates this snobby asshole. 

On Tuesday, Alex stomps up the steps to the museum entrance five minutes early. Even though he’s walked past this place a million times, he’s never actually been inside. The outside has always reminded him of some combination of a palace and the White House. Of course it’s fucking raining, so he has to wrestle with his umbrella while someone holds the door open for him. He finally gets it closed and tosses it just inside the door in disgust. 

He looks up at the guy who held the door and his mouth goes dry. Apparently, the Greek statues come to life when the museum is closed and walk around like mortals. This is not a real person. This is the most perfect specimen of human being Alex has ever seen. His picture didn’t come anywhere close to doing him justice. 

Alex hates him even more. 

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz, welcome. I’m Henry Fox, I’m going to be your guide today. Please call me Henry.” Of course he has a posh British accent, because he has to be even more perfect. He’s probably been judging Alex and assuming he’s an idiot who doesn’t know anything about art. And...he doesn’t, but that’s not because he’s an idiot. He just has more important things to focus on. 

Alex already wants to punch him in his perfect face. 

The living statue is staring at Alex, probably waiting for him to speak like a normal human. Alex realizes he needs to get his shit together. Dr. Henry Fox tries again. “I’m sorry, the director didn’t tell me if there was anything in particular you’d like to see, Mr.--”

After he saw the email, Alex had to decide between bailing on the whole thing and going just to annoy this asshole. He went with the latter. He decides to take up as much of this jerk’s time as he possibly can. He also thinks of making this guy call him Mr. Claremont-Diaz all day, but even he can’t be that much of a dick. He wouldn’t be able to stand himself. 

“Call me Alex,” Alex interrupts. “Anything is fine, whatever you want to show me.” Alex is more interested in watching this guy do his job, and maybe pick up some mannerisms and language from him. But he knows you can’t _tell_ someone you’re watching them, it will make them all weird and awkward. 

The guide looks a little unsure, then claps his hands together. “Well, my specialty is 15th century European art. We can start there, if you’d like.” 

Alex shrugs. “Sure, whatever.” He can’t get rid of the idea he’s bothering this guy, but the weird thing is the guy seems ...not upset about showing Alex around. He seems kind of excited about it. 

Whatever. So he’s a _fake_ pretentious asshole. 

They cross through the Great Hall and pass through the Medieval Art collection. Alex knows this because Henry narrates their entire walk. His stupid, muscly legs make long strides and his voice is rich and deep and echoes off the marble and stone that fills the cavernous space. Alex tries not to gawk at the giant arches and all the intricate architectural detail. He reminds himself of why he’s here and starts thinking about how he could mimic some of Henry’s body language in his own character. 

They turn left and pass rooms full of furniture, some of which Henry tells him came from a German castle. It’s all dark and heavy and....

“I think it’s ugly,” Alex says, not realizing he said it out loud. He looks anxiously at Henry, who’s probably thinking Alex has bad taste, doesn’t appreciate art when he--

“So do I,” Henry replies, with a twinkle in his eye that surprises Alex. “I’d be miserable if I had a house full of this.” 

Alex grins, then immediately regrets it. This guy doesn’t want to be here, he reminds himself. And he’s probably going to go tell all his genius friends about the dumb questions the actor asked him on the tour, so Alex decides not to ask any. He just follows Henry around quietly. 

Alex assumed it would just be paintings and statues, but to his surprise there’s also jewelry and dishes and silver and clothing and more furniture. There’s even a whole series of teapots, of all fucking things. Henry tells him that the way each one is decorated reflects the geopolitical and social issues of the specific time it was made. Henry doesn’t just show him each piece of art, he explains why it’s important, how one piece relates to another, and how it could only have been made at a particular point in history. Alex forces himself to remember why he’s there, and any time Henry turns his back Alex tries to imitate his gesture of showing Alex the pieces with his hand open. Henry has such long, elegant fingers, and Alex can’t quite imitate the same--

“Alex?” 

He realizes Henry has been saying his name for a few seconds, while Alex was trying to move his wrist back and forth in front of him with the same flourish Henry uses. Henry is staring at him, clearly amused, probably laughing at him in his head.

“I asked if you were hungry?” 

Alex starts to say he’s not, because he actually scarfed down some breakfast today, before he realizes, yeah, he _is_ hungry. He looks at his smartwatch and is stunned to see it’s past noon. 

“We’ve been here three hours?” he asks. 

Henry nods. “We have. The Met has many things, but a time machine isn’t one of them.” 

“Ha, ha,“ Alex says, crossing his arms in front of him. 

Henry looks confused but gets a determined look on his face and plows on. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get food from the employee cafeteria, but it’s not terrible. I hope that’s all right?” Henry asks. 

“Sure, whatever,” Alex tells him. 

They walk into a surprisingly busy cafeteria-style restaurant and Henry hands Alex a tray. “I feel like I’m back in high school,” Alex tells him. Of course, no one in his high school looked like Henry. 

“Ah, yes, the American high school experience. My colleagues have alluded to the same thing when we eat here.” 

“ _Alluded_ _to_ ,” Alex makes a mental note. People who work in museums talk like they swallowed a dictionary and a thesaurus. And they also smell really, really good. 

“Alex?” 

Shit, he zoned out again. “Sorry, what?” 

“I said the rain stopped, would you like to eat outdoors?” 

Alex looks at his tray and shrugs. “Sure, why not?” 

He starts walking toward the glass doors but instead Henry veers toward the elevator and hits the up button with his elbow. Alex stands there, clutching his tray like an idiot, while they ride up to the fifth floor. 

When the doors open, they’re on the roof of the museum. There’s a bar and some tables, which are all empty now. The view is amazing, Alex can see half the city. 

“Wow,” Alex blurts out, then feels even more foolish than he has all morning. 

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Henry says with obvious pride. 

Alex can only nod. He follows Henry over to the little bar area and they sit down across from each other. 

“So what do you think of your tour so far? Has it been useful for your research?” 

Alex nods while he chomps on a bite of his sandwich. “Yeah, thanks.” 

“May I ask what the role is?” 

Alex figures this guy just wants to make fun of him for being an airheaded actor. “I’m not really allowed to talk about it.” 

Henry looks a little surprised. “Oh, well, erm, of course not.” 

They finish lunch in awkward silence. Alex thinks about just leaving, but he decides he really wants to watch this guy some more. Watch his graceful hands gesture toward the exhibits, listen to the language he uses when he refers to the artists. That’s the only reason he wants to stay, he tells himself, for the sake of his research. 

“Sorry I’m taking up your free time today,” he says. 

“My free…? Oh, no, the museum is closed to the public but we still work. Most of the work in a museum is done behind the scenes, to ensure things are ready for our guests.” 

They get in the elevator to go back downstairs. As it starts to move, there’s a sudden jolt and all the lights on the panels flash, then go out. 

“Oh, dear,” Henry says. 


	2. The first time I saw you

Alex may not know much about art, but he’s been in badly maintained buildings. “We stuck?” 

Henry nods and slides his cell phone out of his pocket. “Larry,” he says when someone picks up. “It’s Henry Fox. I’m stuck in the elevator with a guest. We were coming down from the roof--” He listens and Alex can hear the guy on the other end saying something. “I’m aware we’re closed, it was a …” Henry looks over at Alex, “special arrangement.” Henry clears his throat. “Anyway, we’re stuck, so could you…” Henry waits again, listening. “Right. Of course.” He listens and looks over at Alex. “No, we’re fine. That’s fine. Thank you,” and hangs up. 

“Twenty minutes,” he tells Alex. “At least it’s not--” he starts, just as the lights go out, “dark.” An emergency light comes on, so it’s not pitch black. 

Alex slides down the wall, sits on the floor, and pulls out his phone. Across from him, Henry does the same. Alex opens up his notes app and taps in some things he wants to remember about his morning tour then scrolls through Instagram. He looks up and sees Henry sitting with his knees pulled up under his chin. He’s looking at his phone too, the light reflecting off his alabaster skin. Looking at Instagram reminds Alex that if he’s going to make it as an actor, he’s going to be judged all the time. For all he knows, this guy could post something on social media about what a dick Alex is. And even if this guy is clearly the asshole, Alex can be the bigger man. Plus, maybe he might be able to take some of this guy’s background and use it to develop his character. With a resigned sigh, he puts his phone away. 

“So….you’re from England?” 

Henry looks up, surprised, and nods. “London.” He opens his mouth but closes it again. 

“How’d you end up here?” 

Henry slides his phone into the pocket of his navy blue jacket. “I was a doctoral student in British art history at Oxford, then I came to NYU to do some post-doc work. While I was there I was offered a position at the museum as an academic fellow. I still teach an undergraduate art history class at the university.” 

“So you’re a doctor?” 

“I have a PhD, yes. I can’t cure anyone if they’re sick, but some of my lectures seem to cure insomnia.” Henry grins at him, like he’s told that terrible joke before. 

“You’re like a real-life Indiana Jones,” Alex says with a smirk. 

“Hardly. I’ve never chased Nazis or gone on wild adventures to retrieve artifacts,” Henry tells him, “and I own neither a whip nor a fedora.” He looks away then back at Alex, uncertainly. “Besides, if I had to be a character in a George Lucas film, I would prefer Star Wars.” 

Alex stares at him, wondering if this guy is fucking with him somehow. But he can’t be. No one knows why Alex became an actor. He’s never mentioned it in any of his interviews because he worried people wouldn't take him seriously. 

“Really?” he asks cautiously. “You like Star Wars?” 

Henry nods, also looking hesitant. “Yes, particularly Return of the Jedi.” 

Alex shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“Sorry?” 

“ _Empire_ is the best Star Wars movie,” Alex tells him. 

Henry gapes at him, then crosses his arms. Alex can tell he’s gotten to him. “I’m sorry, best by whose standards?” 

“Um, everyone’s,” Alex tells him, rolling his eyes. 

There’s a long silence again. And maybe it’s the fact that Alex has never been able to shut up for long. Or maybe it’s because this dark, closed-in space feels a little bit like the confessional booths he sat in as a child when his parents dragged him to church, but he decides to tell Henry something he’s never told anyone else. 

“I decided I wanted to be an actor after I watched Star Wars with my dad. I thought it looked like so much fun to pretend to fly a spaceship and fight aliens.” Alex bites his lip, but continues. He’s in this deep, he might as well keep going. “We always used to watch it when I visited him on weekends, after my parents got divorced. It made him happy, that movie, so..um, yeah...” Alex trails off, watching Henry carefully, waiting to see if he’ll laugh at him.

Henry doesn’t, but the silence goes on longer than Alex is comfortable with. He starts to say something about acting as a craft and studying Stanislavsky and Chekhov, anything to make this guy not see him as a moron, but Henry finally responds.

“That must have been a very special memory, if it decided the trajectory of your career,” Henry tells him, in a voice that Alex has the sudden desire to fall into, like a river. 

Henry scoots over a little so they aren’t directly across from each other, using the room to stretch his legs out straight. Alex realizes again how long and lean his legs are. Henry fingers the hem of his jacket, not looking at Alex while he talks. 

“I studied art history because my father always used to take us to museums. He’d speak so passionately about the paintings and the sculptures, but also about the artists and how so many of them were rebels. They weren’t necessarily fighting with guns or swords, but they were speaking out against the government or the monarchy or the prevailing social attitudes of the time with their art. It made me realize there is more than one way to enact change in the world.” Henry looks up and seems to see something in Alex’s face that tells him to continue. “So, when I was offered a job at a museum, it seemed like …”

“Your dad sort of helped you find your career too, huh?” Alex asks. “He must be proud of you, having a doctorate and all.”

Henry nods, looking down again. “He did... and he was, I think.” He doesn't look up. “But he died when I was 17.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alex blurts out reflexively. He bites his lip, not sure of quite what else to say. Alex grew up Catholic but he hasn’t been to church in a long time. “In my church, they told us the people we love never really leave us, they watch over us from Heaven.” Alex feels very out of his depth, suddenly, and decides maybe this isn’t the best place to debate religious beliefs. “And whether you believe that or not….well, anyway, I bet your dad is proud of you.” 

It seems to be the right thing to say because Henry looks up at him and smiles. It’s unbelievably beautiful and Alex blurts out something else he doesn’t mean to say. “You should be an actor.” 

“What?” Henry asks, clearly baffled by the turn this conversation has taken. 

“I mean, you’re a good looking guy, so…” Alex has never quite learned to control his blushing, so he stops talking and studies the busy pattern of the carpet instead. 

“I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than being on a screen or on a stage and having everyone stare at me,” Henry tells him. “That is very, very far outside my comfort zone. Honestly, I’m uncomfortable teaching and being a tour guide, but I have always wanted to make art accessible to everyone, so I push through my discomfort.” Alex looks up in time to see Henry bite his lower lip, then lick the same spot. “I’m not brave like you are.” 

Alex laughs, feeling completely relaxed for the first time all day. “I am not brave. What’s brave about acting?” 

Henry stares at him in disbelief. “Actors take risks all the time. You are always asking people to judge your looks, your ability, your talent. There are a million critics who will happily tell you you’re terrible, whether you are or not. And you must get rejected more than you’re accepted for roles and things…” Henry trails off as Alex stares at him. 

A small smile blooms on Alex’s face. “Okay, when you put it that way, maybe I’m a little bit brave.” He thinks back to how they started this conversation. “But it’s not piloting a ship through an asteroid field or anything, so…” 

Henry laughs, and Alex kind of wants to dive into that sound too. It’s probably just the echo in the elevator. 

“Can I ask you something?” Henry asks. Alex suddenly notices they’ve both moved away from the walls of the elevator and have scooted closer to each other. 

Alex shrugs, expecting a question about some hot actress or how much he makes, the nosy things people ask when they find out Alex is...well, not famous yet, but famous-adjacent. 

“Was this your idea, or your agent’s?” 

Alex looks into Henry’s eyes and realizes how insanely blue they are. He had noticed that in his photo on the museum website but figured it was just a trick of the light or photoshop or something. It wasn’t. 

“Coming here?” Alex clarifies, and Henry nods. “My agent suggested it, but I really want this role so I agreed it was a good idea.” 

“Ah,” Henry replies. “It’s just that you didn’t seem all that pleased when you arrived. I thought perhaps you were expecting something...different.” 

Alex looks away, then decides he might as well tell him. They aren’t going anywhere. 

“I read your email.”

“What?”

“When my agent tried to set this up for me, she forwarded me an email from the museum director. You had replied to the request saying you didn’t want to ‘babysit’ me,” he throws the offending word into air quotes, “but you would if you had to.” Alex stares at the corner of the elevator, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “And it kind of pissed me off.” 

“Ah,” Henry says, a small, infuriating smile on his face. “Well, first of all, that sounds like a terribly unprofessional use of email. I’ll need to speak to the director about that.” 

Alex rolls his eyes and glares at Henry, challenging him to prove he’s not a total prick. 

Henry crosses his legs and folds his hands together, almost like he’s trying to make himself smaller. He stares down at his fingers, clearly nervous. “I knew who you were.” 

Alex stares at him, confused. “Wait, what?” 

Henry tilts his head when he looks up, and Alex refuses to be charmed by the little smile there. He just called this guy out for being an asshat, he’s not going to cave that easily. “I knew who you were.” Henry takes a deep breath. “I have seen everything you’ve done, or at least everything that’s listed on your IMDB page.” 

“IMDB is notoriously unrelia--you have?” Alex asks, feeling childishly pleased. 

Henry nods. “Mmhmm, all the way back to Villian Number Two on that episode of CSI.” 

“Gotta start somewhere. Better than playing a corpse. No range, with a corpse,” he says, grinning at Henry.

Henry grins back. “But the first time I saw you... was in that movie where you played the father of the sick little girl and you were trying to bring your wife and son from Mexico to the US...” Henry snaps his fingers. “What was it called….Rio…?”

“Rio Grande, yeah,” Alex says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a shitty script, and I hated having to speak in broken English, but it helped me make some connections through the producer.” 

“It _was_ a terrible script,” Henry agrees quickly, shocking a laugh out of Alex. 

“But you were absolutely...erm, you were really good in it.” Henry blushes a little, but doesn’t stop talking. “So I looked up your name and then I went and found everything else that you were in, even if you were only in it for a few seconds.”

“Then when I saw your name in the email, I couldn’t believe my luck. I didn’t want to wait to reply, but I didn’t want to look too eager, so that’s why I responded the way I did. It never in a million years occurred to me that you might see it.” He looks embarrassed, but he also sticks his chin out in a way that Alex might borrow for his character. It makes him look...brave. 

Alex doesn’t know how to make Henry feel less embarrassed about an email fuckup that wasn’t his fault. But he figures if Henry can open up to him, maybe Alex can too.

“This role is a guy who works in a museum and has been an academic all his life. But suddenly he’s the only person who can solve a murder, using clues from famous artwork, and he ends up doing all these crazy things to catch the murderer and prevent more people from getting hurt,” Alex tells him, wincing when he realizes how silly most movie plots are. 

“Isn’t that like the Da Vinci Code?” Henry asks. 

Alex rolls his eyes. “Yes, but it’s still a good movie with a bunch of big names attached to it.” He folds his arms and leans back against the wall. “And I’m tired of playing Mexican stereotypes. First of all, I’m only half-Mexican. Second of all, I have dark skin and I only get offered what they call ‘ethnic roles.’ I’ve been asked to play an Arabic terrorist, an Ethiopian terrorist, an Israeli terrorist….basically all the terrorists. Third of all, Latino representation is really lacking in movies and I want the chance to play a good role, a smart, educated, upper-middle-class, good guy who happens to be Latino.” Alex looks at Henry like he’s daring him to disagree, and maybe he sticks his chin out a little bit, too. 

With a jolt and a loud hum, the elevator comes to life. Henry jumps up and reaches his hand toward Alex, pulling him to standing. When they exit on the first floor, a guy in a maintenance outfit is standing there waiting. Henry shakes his hand. “Thanks, Larry.” He introduces Alex and they chat for a moment, before walking back toward the exhibit galleries. 

Henry turns suddenly, hands on his hips. “What’s his area?” 

Alex looks around, confused. “What? Who? Larry?” 

Henry smiles, the soft smile Alex is already kind of addicted to. “The person you’re playing. What’s his area of specialization?” 

Alex looks at him, still confused, and shrugs dramatically. “Art?” 

“Right, but what period? Does the script say?” 

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t know that the script is totally finished yet, and I’ve only seen my sides.” He’s secretly a little glad that he has just pulled out lingo specific to his job that Henry doesn’t know. “Those are the lines they send actors to audition with.” 

“I was just wondering…” Henry tilts his head at Alex. “What if he was an expert in Latin-American and Mexican influence in art? That would let you point out all the positive influence Latinx artists have had in culture and politics and you could fight some of those negative stereotypes. And, well, I don’t know how these things work, but would it give you an edge in the auditions if you came in knowing all about that and incorporated that knowledge into the character?” 

Alex suddenly wants to hug this guy he just met today. “Uhhh….maybe?” 

“How familiar are you with art from Mexico and Central America?”  
  


“I mean, I know Diego Rivera….and Frida Kahlo...and that’s about it,” Alex says, a little embarrassed to look so ignorant about his own culture in front of someone like Henry.

“Of course, Diego Rivera is well represented in our collection, but I thought you might like to see other things.” Henry tilts his head again, considering. “Could you possibly come back tomorrow? I know some... but it’s not my area and I’d like to do a little homework first.” 

Alex nods eagerly, not sure why he’s so excited to spend another day in an art museum, but he is. He’s also not sure why looking at Henry standing there, strong and confident, hands at his hips, makes him feel a little...funny. But it does. 

He decides that if he’s coming back, he’d like to feel a little more prepared. “Is there, like, a website or something I can look at tonight? I mean, just so I can get some ideas about other Mexican artists, you know?” 

Henry nods and starts scrolling through his phone. “Our website has a bit of information, but it depends on how in depth you want to get. There are several universities that house excellent research libraries,” Henry starts listing off universities and other museums and Alex scrambles for his phone to type them in. He finally holds up a hand in surrender. “Hey, you know what? Just text the links to me.” 

Henry stares at him for a moment, then hands his phone to Alex, who punches in his number. Henry does the same and they agree to meet the next morning. Alex grabs his umbrella and jogs off down the sidewalk, in an inexplicably good mood. 

Nora texts him later, asking about the museum tour. He thinks of the million ways he could reply, before tapping out: 

**_It was fine thx_ **

**_got some good ideas for the role_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you saw the whole line from the book (broken up within a paragraph) in this chapter :-)


	3. They Really Were Rebels

Alex gets back to his tiny apartment, part of a subdivided brownstone in Brooklyn, and sits down to start looking at all the links Henry already sent him. He ends up pulling most of them up on his laptop, since they include images of paintings he can’t see in detail on his phone. 

He gets especially excited when he reads about Mexican murals and how they were a way for artists to educate a semi-literate population about politics and social justice. At some point, the Mexican government got wise to them and started limiting what they were allowed to paint in public spaces. Fascinated, Alex grabs his phone and replies to one of the links Henry sent him: 

**they really were rebels**

**I never knew that**

**how did I never know that?**

Alex sees three dots bubble up almost immediately and half-expects a response saying Henry is busy with his gorgeous girlfriend or his genius coworkers and could Alex please not disturb him during non-working hours. Instead, he gets

**Because minority representation is not only absent in art, but in much of the public**

**education system**

**History and culture are both taught**

**from the standpoint of the victors**

**and often of the oppressors**

They both continue to read and research on their own, sending comments and links back and forth all evening. 

By 1am, they’ve moved on to trading ridiculous memes about Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows. Alex connects his phone to the charger and falls asleep, with a British accent and brightly colored murals filling his dreams. 

The next morning, Alex bounces up the steps of the museum. Henry meets him at the door again and lets him in. Alex feels giddy, his brain full of numbers and names and dates, like he’s about to take a final exam he crammed all night for. He meets Henry’s bright, tired eyes, and has this strange, unreal feeling that they’ve known each other longer than 24 hours. 

He attributes his full body shiver to the blast of air conditioning that hits him when Henry opens the door. 

With a smile and a tilt of his head, Henry gestures for Alex to follow him down the hall. They start out in the photography exhibit but end up zigzagging through most of the building. Henry explains that a lot of art about Latin American culture wasn’t made by Latin American artists, so it crosses over into multiple categories. He shows Alex a [ print ](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/656913)of a woman making tortillas by hand, with a baby strapped to her back. The artist was a French man who lived near Chichen Itza in the 1920s. 

“That’s absolutely beautiful,” Alex whispers. 

“Jean Charlot tried to encourage artists to make prints of their larger works, as a way of promoting accessibility to art for those who couldn’t afford to purchase it or travel to see it,” Henry explains. 

“He would have loved the internet,” Alex says with a grin. 

“Don’t we all,” Henry says with a laugh. “Isn’t that what everyone uses the internet for, to look at beautiful works of art?” 

They meander through almost every gallery in the building, before heading back to the cafeteria for lunch. They decide to take their chances with the elevator again and eat on the roof. They talk about everything and nothing, both of them sharing stories about their families, about moving to New York, living in tiny apartments, and trying to date in the city. 

“Is there a love interest?” 

Alex looks up, surprised, as Henry continues, “In the movie. For your character, I mean.” And Alex isn’t sure why they’re both blushing. 

“Yeah, he has to get the girl, and of course she’s beautiful. Well, I assume she is, they haven’t cast her yet,” Alex shrugs as he pops a chip in his mouth. “So, does this job get you lots of girls?” 

Henry looks uncomfortable and stammers out his response. “I’m not, er, exactly sure this job is particularly attractive to, er, most... people.”

“Maybe the nerdy, brainy girls would be into you, though, right?” Alex asks. 

Henry opens his mouth and closes it a couple times. Alex hasn’t known him long, but he’s already learned this means Henry is uncomfortable but isn’t going to stop talking. It’s the real life equivalent of three dots when they’re texting. Alex just needs to be patient.

“They might be,” Henry allows, “but I’m, erm, not into them. I’m gay,” Henry says, continuing before Alex can say anything, “and before you ask, no, I haven’t had any nerdy, brainy _guys_ hit on me either. At least, not at work.” 

Alex chews slowly, trying to think of what he wants to say next. “Outside work, then?” 

Henry wipes his hands on his paper napkin. “My friend Pez drags me out to gay bars once in a while, but it’s not…”

“Not your scene?” Alex finishes for him as Henry nods and looks away. “I get that. I mean, someone who looks like you but doesn’t like being the center of attention would be miserable in a gay bar….in any bar, really.” Henry looks straight at Alex. Alex runs back over his words in his head and finds he doesn’t regret any of them. “What? You know you’re a good looking guy, right?” 

Henry looks like he could fidget right out of his chair. “I….guess I don’t think about it that much.” 

Which is funny, Alex thinks, because suddenly it’s _all_ he can think about. 

When they go back inside, Henry pulls out an ID with a magnetic strip and uses it to lead Alex through a couple of doors marked 

**DO NOT ENTER**

**EMPLOYEES ONLY**

“Are you taking me somewhere to murder me? Because I’m pretty sure there are security cameras and witnesses here,” Alex jokes. 

“Maybe, so be careful about pissing me off,” Henry jokes back. “No, I’m taking you to the archives. The majority of any museum’s holdings are in storage at any one time. Only a tiny fraction are actually on display to the public.” Henry pulls two pairs of white, cotton gloves out of his jacket pocket and hands one pair to Alex. “We’ll have to wear these, oil from our skin would eventually damage the art.” 

Alex makes a note of these things for his role. Even if he never uses these little facts in the movie, he wants to know that his _character_ knows them. 

Henry walks Alex down a long hallway, through two more doors, and toward the back of a large storeroom, where he starts pulling open a series of shallow drawers. With gloved hands, he removes several prints and carefully carries them to a large table nearby. He and Alex sit for hours, talking about the work of artists like Siquiero and Tamayo, comparing their techniques, their choice of subjects and their political beliefs. Henry knows so much about, well, _everything_ , and Alex is a little dazzled by him. 

Just a little. 

Alex pulls one of the prints closer, tries to guess the artist before Henry tells him. “It’s like a Rivera, but it’s...darker, so I don’t think…” He looks up, asking wordlessly. 

“Her name was Elizabeth Catlett. She was an African American woman who descended from enslaved people. She experienced discrimination at every turn but persevered to pursue her art. She married a Mexican man and lived in Mexico for a while. They supported causes that were left-leaning and associated with communist groups, which got her banned from returning to the US. She eventually became a Mexican citizen.” Henry clears his throat. “A lot of her work reflects the struggles for social justice by all people of color. She’s also recognized as a kind of feminist icon.” 

“So even though she was obviously brilliant, people treated her as ‘less than’ because of the color of her skin,” Alex said, staring at the print in front of him. 

Henry nods. He looks around the windowless room, then at his watch. “Oh, goodness, Alex, I’m sorry. It’s past closing time.” 

“Will you get in trouble?” Alex asks, jumping up and reaching to help Henry put the prints back before he realizes he doesn't actually know where they go. 

Henry smiles at him. “No, it’s fine. I often work late. I just feel bad for taking up so much of your time.” 

Alex shakes his head. “You’re not...I enjoyed this, Henry.” 

Henry locks the cabinets and they wind their way back to the doors. When they get back to the main part of the museum, most of the lights are dimmed but Henry clearly knows where he’s going. Alex has to follow Henry to the staff room where he collects his things from a little cubicle. It’s nothing fancy, just like all the offices where Alex did temp jobs before acting started paying the bills. Henry’s cubicle has a computer, a scanner, several thick reference books, pictures of a dog, and a picture of himself with a girl that looks too much like him to be a friend. 

“Is this Bea?” Alex asks. 

Henry looks over at Alex like he just did a magic trick. “How did you know my sister’s name?” 

“You told me, um, at lunch, maybe? I don’t remember,” Alex says, realizing how much they've talked just in the past two days. “You said she’s a musician.” 

“Oh, of course.” Henry scratches his head, a little embarrassed at his reaction. “And yes, that’s Bea.” 

“She’s very pretty,” Alex says, while Henry turns his desk lamp off and picks up a leather satchel. “She looks like you,” he adds. 

Henry stares at Alex for a second, but says nothing. He touches Alex’s elbow and guides him toward a back employee exit where Henry waves at a pair of security guards. They follow a little walkway around the building until they’re back on Fifth Avenue and Alex has his bearings. 

“So…” Alex says. 

“Erm, right. So…,” Henry says, adding nothing to the conversation. 

“I’ve got acting class, in an hour,” Alex tells him, shifting from one foot to another. 

Henry nods. “Well, keep in touch, then? And let me know if you need anything else...any art...anything about...art,” he says. Alex wonders if it’s his imagination, or if Henry sounds hopeful. 

Alex nods. He watches Henry run his hand up and down the strap of his shoulder bag and tries not to stare at it. He thinks this may be the most adorable human he’s ever laid eyes on. Objectively, of course. It’s perfectly fine to notice that Henry is interesting to look at...like an art exhibit. That’s all. “Okay, well, bye, and thanks again,” he says, and turns to walk away. 

Later that night, Alex texts Henry the link to an article he found about some art history classes he can take online. 

**Won’t you be busy with your big movie role?**

**Don’t jinx it, Fox!**

**Sorry, sorry!**

**But I have faith in you**

**You’re an amazing actor**

**And I can’t imagine the others put as**

**much work into creating a background**

**for the character as you did**

**thanks, Henry**

The next day Henry texts Alex a meme with Bert from Sesame Street dressed as Frida Kahlo. For the first time in his life, Alex realizes they have the same unibrow.

**Frida and Diego’s secret love child??**

**Quite a family resemblance, don’t you think?**

****

Alex laughs so hard a woman moves away from him on the subway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo credits:  
> The picture that is only linked is restricted by the Met and can’t be downloaded or copied.
> 
> Bert as Frida Kahlo: https://twitter.com/PhilipRuizzz/status/747542330949926913


	4. I Got the Part

They text so often over the next few days, about so many things, that Henry almost misses Alex’s four-word text on Saturday morning.

**I got the part**

Henry doesn’t bother to text, instead hitting the call button. Alex mutes the tv and picks up, weirdly eager to hear Henry’s voice again. 

“Alex, that’s wonderful! Congratulations!” Henry gushes. 

“Thanks, I really, really owe you one. I talked to them about my ideas for the part, and even if they never use any of them, they were still impressed with my preparation and my method and I got it!” 

“I”m so proud of you,” Henry says, and Alex could swear he can hear Henry smiling. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Alex picks at a loose thread on his couch cushion. “Would you, I mean, I’d like to take you to dinner. To, um, to thank you for all your help.” 

“That’s completely unnecessary, Alex, I was happy to help,” Henry assures him.

“Too bad, I insist,” Alex says. “I’ll text you the details, okay?” 

“Well, if you insist, who am I to turn down a free meal?” Henry says, and yeah, that definitely sounds like a smile. 

***************************

Friday night, Alex is standing nervously outside the restaurant when he sees Henry walking toward him. Even though they texted each other all week, he was still half-afraid Henry would bail on him. They have to wait a few minutes before they’re seated. Alex eyes the bag Henry’s holding with the logo of the Met gift shop. “Whatcha got there?” he asks with a mischievous grin. 

“Gift for you, to celebrate your success,” Henry says, handing Alex the bag. Just then, the host calls their names so Alex doesn’t get to open it until after they’ve ordered a bottle of wine and appetizers. Alex finally pulls a white cardboard box out of the bag. He opens the box, even though he’s more interested in watching Henry’s bright, excited face. 

“Oh my god,” Alex says, over the noise in the crowded restaurant. “This is amazing,” he laughs. It’s a mug shaped like the silhouette of a woman’s face, with Frida Kahlo’s eyebrows painted across the top. Alex is genuinely delighted. “This is the best thing ever, Henry, thank you so much!”

Henry is beaming. “You really like it?” 

“I seriously love it.” He tucks it carefully back into the tissue paper inside the box and sits it on the table. 

They fall into easy conversation about work and family and the food and the history of the area where the restaurant is, which of course Henry knows all about. Alex tells Henry about how he got started in high school theater and kept at it. How being one of the few kids of color in his school, he felt like he was always acting anyway, always trying to take on the appearance of someone who belonged. How he loves everything about acting, the way it lets him become someone completely different. Henry tells Alex about how scary it was to come to the US and leave everyone and everything he knew. How he’d walked into the Met for the first time and felt like he’d come home. 

Alex finds out that Henry does free lectures in art history every other month at the museum. Small evening events, where people can have wine and appetizers and listen to Henry talk about art. He tries to make it interesting to the masses, usually by connecting themes in art to current events. 

“Is that another thing you ‘push through’?” Alex asks.

Henry nods. “It’s typically a small group, so that’s easier for me. When I do any type of public speaking, I always try to find one person, you know? A friendly face in the crowd to focus on.” Henry pops a ravioli in his mouth, putting up a finger to indicate he’s thought of something. “Actually, in June we had about 35 or 40 people, which was more than normal. To commemorate the anniversary of Stonewall, I spoke about gay artists and LGBTQ themes in art from the early 1900s until the 1980s, when the AIDS crisis hit.” 

“That sounds really interesting, Henry,” Alex tells him, pleased that Henry blushes a little. He can’t get enough of that particular shade of pink. 

At one point, Alex looks down to see he’s stabbing his fork onto an empty plate. He laughs at himself and Henry looks at him like he might have lost his mind. “No, I just got caught up listening to you talk and I didn’t notice I finished my food,” he says, staring at Henry with what he knows is a goofy grin. 

Henry smiles back at Alex. “So, what happens now that you got the part?” 

Alex pushes his plate away a little and settles back in his chair. “The studio is going to market the hell out of this movie because the director is so big. They want to make sure people are practically drooling to buy a ticket by the time it comes out. And my agent is planning a big social media push to draw attention to me playing this role.” 

“See what I meant about you being brave?” Henry reminds him. 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks. 

“Well, you’re excited about that. But if I was in your place, I’d be properly horrified,” Henry says with a sweet smile Alex would like to see more of. He pours what’s left of their second bottle of red wine into Henry’s empty glass. 

“But at the same time,” Henry goes on, “I wish I could do that.” 

“Do what? Act?” 

“Not specifically, no,” Henry says, taking a drink of wine. “I wish I was an artist. That’s the reason I’ve always studied art, because I can’t make art.” 

“You’ve had too much wine, Fox. I’m not an artist, I'm an actor.” 

Henry huffs out a small laugh. “But you are making art, Alex. I look at it. I study it. Sometimes I write or talk about it.” Henry shakes his head. “But you create it. You make art with your mouth and your hands, with your voice, with your whole body.” His face lights up and Alex wants to make that happen again, too. “I could never do what you do.” 

Alex has had a decent share of two bottles of wine, but for some reason his mouth feels dry. Hearing Henry talk about his hands and his body, he can’t pretend he doesn’t feel what he feels anymore. Even if he’s sure it’s all going to blow up in his face, because there is no way this fascinating, gorgeous, intelligent man wants to spend more time with him. 

But he has to try. 

He leans across the table. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Henry nods, putting his wine glass back down on the white tablecloth. 

“You said gay bars aren’t your scene, yeah?” 

Henry shakes his head, but he looks a little anxious. 

“What _is_ your scene, then?”

Henry swallows, hard. “What do you mean?” 

“Like, where do you meet people?” 

Henry takes a deep breath. “Honestly, I’ve been busy with school and work. It’s been… a while. I dated a couple times when I first came to the States but no one, um, special.” The pink tinge on Henry’s face is cute, and makes Alex a little weak in the knees, even though he's sitting down. 

“What about you?” Henry asks. “I’m sure there are tons of women throwing themselves at you. Have you ever had a fling with a co-star?” 

Alex laughs. “I wouldn't say I’ve had women throwing themselves at me, but there are women who have a thing for actors. I think you have to be more famous than me before you get to the ‘hot and cold running women’ phase.” 

Henry smiles and gulps down the last of his wine. 

Alex doesn't look at Henry, instead running one finger up and down the stem of his wine glass. “When I was doing theater in Texas, there was this guy named Liam. We were a thing for a while.” Alex takes a deep breath. “But I wanted to leave and he wanted to stay and neither of us were willing to sacrifice what we wanted for each other.” He looks up enough to see that Henry might be holding his breath. “Wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” 

Henry tilts his head at Alex. “I didn’t realize you were--” 

“I’m bi,” Alex finishes for him. “I don’t, um, tell everyone.” 

Henry stares, then seems to catch himself staring and blinks about ten times. “Well, I’m honored you shared that with me, Alex.” 

Alex is scared, he doesn’t want to ruin a friendship. But he doesn’t just want to be friends, either. He’s scared, but Henry told him he was brave, and Henry doesn’t lie. Alex is already sure of that. 

“I wasn’t telling you just for your information, Henry.” Alex says, leaning across the table so he can lower his voice. “I like you. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. And I’d like to find other things I like doing with you, but only if you’re interested.” 

Henry stares at his empty wine glass like it has personally wronged him. He swallows hard again, and it’s not Alex’s fault if he watches his throat move and thinks dirty, dirty thoughts. Finally, Henry juts his chin out a little, making Alex think he just might have a chance. 

“Alex, do you remember when I told you about the first movie I saw you in?” 

“The one where I had to pretend I didn’t speak English?” Alex smirks. 

“Yes.” Henry reaches across the table and takes Alex’s wine glass, swallowing what’s left of his wine before Alex can protest. After he puts the glass down, Henry takes a deep breath. “I noticed you because you were an amazing actor. You took material that was clearly beneath your talents and elevated it.” Henry looks into Alex’s eyes, and maybe it’s just the wine, but Alex feels like he’s at the precipice, either the edge of a cliff or the very start of something amazing. 

“But I also noticed you because you were the most beautiful fucking thing I had ever seen.” Henry licks his bottom lip. “And getting to know you and spend time with you, I’ve learned that you’re also smart and funny and caring and dedicated and…” He looks down, focusing on a drop of spilled red wine that’s bleeding like a starburst into the tablecloth. “I guess I’m just finding it hard to believe that someone like you is interested in someone like me.” Henry shrugs and looks back up, tentative. “I’m just a boring bloke who works in a museum.” 

Alex can’t help but stare into Henry’s bottomless blue eyes. He shakes his head slowly. “You are a lot of things, Henry Fox, but you are not boring.” 

Alex pays the check and walks out to the sidewalk with Henry. They start strolling in the same direction, Alex’s bag from the museum gift shop swinging at his side. After a few steps, he reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around Henry’s wrist. He looks up at Henry’s face and waits for Henry to pull away from him, to say he’s stupid or wrong or so far off-base, but Henry doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, and Alex leans in, and they kiss. 

And Alex was right, it is the start of something amazing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photo credits:  
> Anything from the Met is from the metmuseum.org website. 
> 
> The mug is available in their store.


	5. Four Inches to the Northeast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can writers have favorite chapters? Or is that like a parent having a favorite child? Suck it, other chapters...this one is my favorite!

They start spending more and more time together, mostly at Alex’s place but sometimes at Henry’s. Alex meets Henry’s dog, David, who Henry named after David Hockney, a gay artist he admires. David starts spending the night whenever Henry does, even though Alex’s apartment doesn’t technically allow pets. 

Henry meets June, Alex’s sister, on Facetime, and Alex meets Bea the same way. June works for a newspaper in California and promises she’ll try to score a business trip to New York soon so they can meet in person. Bea still lives in London. She has no plans to travel that far and hates to fly, but she and Alex really click every time they talk. Alex starts looping both their sisters in on their (non-flirty) jokes and memes. It makes Henry smile. 

Neither of them is quite ready to meet the parents yet. Sisters are less pressure, less serious, in some ways, even though Alex would never even think of dating anyone more than a couple of times without June’s approval. And he’s pretty sure he would’ve been dumped on his ass if Bea gave the word. 

Alex attends one of Henry’s evening events at the museum. It starts while Alex is in acting class, so he arrives in the middle. Henry is talking to maybe 20 people about how art reflects the history of the civil rights movement. He completely stops talking when he sees Alex in a brown bomber jacket, smiling and leaning against a pillar in the back of the room. It just makes Alex smile a little bigger. Alex raises his eyebrows and looks around the room, reminding Henry of where he is. “Oh, erm, right, now where was I?” Henry stammers, jumping back into his presentation.

Afterward, they walk out together and Henry stops Alex on the sidewalk. He wraps his big hands loosely around Alex’s biceps and kisses him softly, for a long, long, time. 

Henry helps Alex run lines, after Alex convinces him that he still has to try out for other parts while he waits for the movie to start filming. Henry tells Alex when he’s being a little too intense (“It’s a cereal commercial, darling, not a death scene.”) He helps Alex practice the exercises he’s learning in acting class. He laughs when Alex tries to mimic his speech so he can add “British accent” to his resumé. That never lasts long; Alex always stares at Henry’s lips when he’s trying to imitate him, and they end up doing other things with their mouths instead. 

They’ve been dating for about two months when Henry comes down with the flu, and Alex stays with him for three days. He takes David for walks and buys cough syrup and tissues and cleans the apartment. He even makes homemade chicken soup from a family recipe and brings it to Henry in bed. Henry’s eyes widen when he takes a bite. “What --?”

“Ginger,” Alex tells him. He sits on the bed and kisses Henry’s temple, careful not to make him spill his soup. “It was my grandma’s cure-all when we got sick. I swear it works, so just trust me, baby.” 

And Henry continues to teach Alex more about the art he loves, sharing pictures and prints and sculptures that are meaningful to him. Alex learns about Betty Parsons and Nan Goldin and Robert Rauschenberg, all of whom Henry talks about like they’re old friends. 

Henry drags Alex to a grimy little independent theater to watch a documentary about Bernice Bing, a talented artist who was all but forgotten because she was female, Asian, and a lesbian. “She wasn’t just an amazing artist, Alex, she also contributed so much to her community.” Alex adores watching Henry get this excited. “She established art programs for gang-affiliated youth in San Francisco, hoping they would find a way out of that life.” 

“Wow,” Alex agrees. “How come I’ve never heard of her?” 

“To paraphrase my friend Susan, who’s an art historian in California,” Henry says, as he ticks off each item on his fingers, “It’s because she didn’t have the requisite heterosexuality, white skin, and possession of a Y chromosome.”

Alex visits Henry for lunch at the museum when he can. They still enjoy eating at the rooftop cafe, but now Alex can tell Henry how beautiful he looks against the backdrop of the New York City skyline. 

But Alex also comes to the museum in the evenings, after closing time, and they wander around so Henry can show Alex his favorite things. He shows Alex the big exhibits, like entire historic rooms from England that the museum took apart piece by piece, moved overseas, and meticulously restored. But he’s usually more fascinated when Henry walks past the big paintings and statues and zeroes in on some tiny object. 

“See this?” He points at a small figure of a tiger holding a man in uniform by the neck.

“Remember I was telling you about the history between Britain and India?” Alex nods. He feels like he’s taken graduate classes in world history, just by casually spending time with Henry. “A British soldier was killed by a tiger in India in the 1790s. To commemorate his death, an Indian ruler named Tipu Sultan commissioned a statue of the, erm, event. It was thought to represent India rebelling against Britain, as though even the land and the animals were fighting back against their oppressors.” 

“And a kind of ‘fuck you’ to England,” Alex suggests. 

Henry laughs. “Yes, that too.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “A few years later, the British Army stole the statue and brought it to London, I suppose to show off their dominance over India. Then they made little models of the statue, so anyone who wanted one could have it in their home.” 

Alex leans in to study the paintwork. “It’s weird that there are flowers on the base, when it’s depicting a gruesome death.” 

Henry nods. “I suppose, in order for it to fit into most middle-class British living rooms, death had to have a certain design aesthetic.” He shrugs at Alex and sighs. “I can’t imagine staring at that thing on my mantle while I sipped tea.” 

He turns to look at Alex. “The original, full-size statue is in a museum in London. My father used to take me to see it, and tell me the story behind it. I think he wanted me to understand that our country’s relationship with the world is... _complicated_ , to say the least. It really informed the way I study history. I think it’s important to remember our past, especially the low points. Queen Victoria wanted her armies to keep India under her thumb. I can hardly blame them for celebrating this poor man being eaten by a tiger.” 

“Not a fan of the Queen, huh?” Alex says with a grin. 

Henry reaches out to take Alex’s hand and pull him toward another display. “Well, no, and I wouldn’t think you’d be either. She went out of her way to outlaw oral sex between men.” 

“Oh, yeah, can’t stand her then,” Alex says, looking Henry up and down with a lascivious grin. He yanks Henry tightly to him and says in a low voice. “You wanna really piss off her ghost?” 

Henry takes a deep, shaky breath, that Alex can both hear and feel. “I do,” he shifts his gaze to the corner of the room. “But there are cameras everywhere, Alex, and I don’t particularly want our security guards watching us.” He walks backward, tugging Alex by the hand. “You know what, though?” 

“Hmm?” Alex replies, trying to control his disappointment. 

“There are no cameras in the employee area downstairs. And no one else would be down there at this time of the evening.” 

Alex is getting hard before they even make it to the elevator...and groans when Henry frustratingly reminds him there are security cameras in there, too. As soon as they step off the elevator, Alex shoves Henry into an employee bathroom. He locks the door, just in case. 

When they’re not at the museum, they spend long afternoons and weekends on the couch or in bed. Alex learns how much he loves exploring Henry’s hard body, lean muscle under quivering skin. He also loves seeing himself reflected in Henry’s soft gaze, and running his fingers through plush, thick hair. 

In addition to sex and sleep, they spend time talking and staring at pictures on Henry’s laptop. One rainy Sunday afternoon, they’re sitting up in Alex’s bed, naked, sheets pooled around their hips, nowhere to go and nothing to do but just be with each other. Henry has his laptop between them on the sheets, showing Alex how gay artists persisted, even when there were laws against being gay and creating ‘homoerotic imagery.’ “They hid in plain sight, see? Henry Cadmus painted these half-naked male acrobats, preparing for their performance. He never would have been allowed to produce a painting of nude men, but this was an acceptable way to bypass the sad fact that his very existence was, at that time, illegal.” Henry tabs to another screen, this one showing a bronze statue of a nude man. “Male athletes were also popular subject matter. Artists could emphasize their physique, their muscle tone, their strength, without having their work policed or even destroyed for being immoral.” 

Henry lets his head fall back against the cheap headboard Alex picked up at a flea market. “Rebels,” Henry says, turning to smile at Alex. “I told you, the art world really is full of them.” 

“Someone must have known what they were doing, though,” Alex insists. 

Henry shrugs. “I think people were willing to believe it was just an artistic choice. And the artists could just point to all the Greek and Roman statuary, assuming most people were ignorant about just how much homosexual activity was going on then,” Henry says with a knowing smile. It’s another one of his favorite subjects, and he can go on for hours about how many emperors and Greek and Roman gods were queer. 

“Ancient Rome was pretty wild,” Alex says, returning Henry’s wicked grin. 

“Yes, it was.” Henry exits out of one screen and pulls up another picture of a muscular man, standing in shadows. “I thought you just wanted to know this for the role. Is it still helpful?”

Alex rests his elbow on the headboard and props his head on his fist so he’s turned to face Henry. “I did, I mean, that’s how it started, but then I actually got interested in this stuff. I think it has something to do with the hot guy teaching me about it.” He leans in for a soft, sweet kiss, with no immediate plans for more than that, not right now. Henry goes back to scrolling, tilting the screen toward Alex. “This is Richmond Barthé, he--”

“I love you,” Alex says. 

“Was an African….” Henry turns to look at him. “What did you say?” 

“I love you,” Alex says again, with no hesitation. 

Henry stares at Alex, then at his laptop, then back at Alex. He blinks slowly. Alex treats it like Henry’s three dots, and waits patiently. Finally, a crooked smile spreads across Henry’s gorgeous face. “I love you, too, Alex.” 

“So, this guy’s name is Richmond?” Alex asks, gesturing toward the screen like nothing earth shattering just happened. 

Henry’s face is a gorgeous shade of red, his lips twisted into a sweetly satisfied grin. He clears his throat and continues. “He’s a sculptor associated with the Harlem Renaissance…” 

Over the next few weeks, Alex realizes he’s never really been in love before. It turns out love is laying on the same pillow at night so he can stare straight into Henry's eyes until they both fall asleep. Love is walking through the park holding hands and knowing the exact distance to Henry's lips is four inches to the northeast. It's a trip he doesn't mind making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evie asked if I just knew about art history before or if I just did a shit-ton of homework. The answer is I did a shit-ton of homework--but it was fun! I really got interested in Bernice Bing, and developed a little (posthumous) crush on her because I have a philanthropy kink. I wanted to use a quote I found in an article about her, so I attributed it to Henry's "friend," Susan Landauer, who wrote about her for an exhibit. 
> 
> https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/art-exhibits/what-if-bernice-bings-art-had-been-celebrated-and-supported
> 
> And I HAD to get Tipu's Tiger in this story somewhere! 
> 
> Photo credits:  
> Anything from the Met is from the metmuseum.org website.


	6. #ACD

After they’ve been dating for a few months, Nora calls Alex in for a meeting and says the director really wants to start promoting him as the next big star. Alex agrees to everything she tells him, without truly realizing how his life is about to change. She confirms that he and Henry are both out to anyone who matters, so no one will find out about their relationship through the press. Alex says he won’t lie about who he is or who he’s with, but he doesn’t think Henry would love being too involved in any publicity. Henry later agrees, saying he’s not the one in the movie so it probably won’t matter. 

The first sign that the media push is working is the day Alex and Henry are riding the subway back to Alex’s place. A couple of people in their car come up to ask for selfies, and Henry happily moves out of the way so they can get a good shot. Alex grabs Henry’s hand as they jog up the stairs to ground level, even though it annoys people trying to get down the steps. Once they’re on the sidewalk, Alex grins up at Henry. “That was wild, babe. That’s never happened to me before!” 

Henry is so proud and happy for him. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to dating a famous celebrity.” 

He’s joking, of course. 

But merely a week later, it’s not a joke.

Alex meets Henry at the museum doors and they grab dinner at Chipotle, then take the subway home. So many people ask Alex for a selfie and take his picture, some obvious, some sneaky, that he and Henry can barely have a conversation. They walk up to Alex’s apartment and there are paparazzi camped out on the steps. They have to shove their way to the door and are baffled and breathless when they get inside. 

Alex is immediately on the phone with Nora, while Henry pulls all the curtains and blinds. “What the fuck is going on? Why are there photographers on my stoop?” 

“Were you in that meeting where I told you they’re putting you up as Hollywood’s next golden boy? I mean, I know you were, I distinctly remember you being there and signing off on this shit.” 

“But how did they know where I live?” 

“Alex, sweetheart, there are no secrets anymore. Don’t you know that?” There’s a sound like she’s gulping down coffee. “You might want to warn your boyfriend they’re going to want to know all about him too.”

Alex hangs up. He starts to throw his phone at the couch but stops just in time. Henry is sitting there, right where it would have landed, looking pale and anxious and _shit_. Panic attack. 

He’s only seen Henry have one, but he already knows what to do. Alex actively works to slow his own breathing, to let go of his anger and frustration. Everything right now is about helping Henry regulate his breath and relax. Nothing outside their fucking door matters. He’ll deal with that later. 

He sits down and presses his body into Henry’s side, inhaling and exhaling as slowly and as deeply as he can. He takes Henry’s hand, squeezing hard, then letting go, then squeezing hard again, in time with his breaths. He leans his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. “Breathe, baby, it’s okay. I’m right here. Breathe,” he whispers. 

And just like that, Alex’s face is everywhere. The movie’s PR people tag every picture of Alex with #ACD, since their research determined it to be easier to remember than Alex’s full name. He’s being sold as the next action hero, the next big movie star, the beautiful golden boy who will give Hollywood double credit for diversity and sell tickets, all at the same time. Nora has him do a bunch of press interviews that get cut up into clips and tucked into every corner of the internet. Alex is already sick of his own face and voice and they haven’t even started filming. 

And Henry. _Jesus_ , Henry.

Henry, who hates being the center of attention, is suddenly thrust into a spotlight he didn’t ask for and never wanted. There are stories on all the entertainment sites about Alex’s hot, intellectual boyfriend. Some are nice, some are very much not. It takes about six seconds for the conservative religious groups to start threatening to boycott a movie which doesn’t even exist yet. Reporters track down one of Henry’s old boyfriends, who gets his fifteen minutes of fame. They also track down Liam, who lets Alex know he told them to fuck right off. Photographers start staking out the museum’s employee entrance, and Henry’s boss asks him to take a few days off to see if things settle down. They start hiding out at home instead of going places, wearing hoodies and hats when they do leave the house. They stay at Henry’s for a couple of days until the press finds them there, too. As they come out of his front door one evening, a particularly slimy photographer shoves his camera in their faces and Alex instinctively knocks it out of the way. It falls to the ground with an expensive clatter. 

“Hey, asswipe, you broke my camera. You’re gonna have to pay for that.” “Fuck off,” Alex says as he walks away, pulling Henry by the hand. 

“You don’t wanna do that, boy,” the man calls after him. “We can make you, and we can break you.”

They get a few blocks away before Alex slows down. He pulls Henry into the doorway of a closed shop and frames his face with his hands. “I am so, so sorry.” 

Henry shakes his head, taking Alex’s hands in his own. “Don’t apologize for being successful, love.” 

Alex glares in the direction of Henry’s apartment. “This isn’t about success. This is insane.” He looks back up into Henry’s eyes. “And I know you hate it.” 

Henry nods. “I do.” He takes a deep breath and sticks out his chin in the way Alex loves. “But I’ve decided being with you is worth putting up with this, at least for a while,” he says with a wink. 

Alex grins up at him. “That’s not funny,” he says, even though he can’t stop smiling. 

********************************* 

Alex is in the middle of acting class that week when he sees his phone screen light up from across the room. He can see that it’s Henry, so he runs to grab it and darts into the hallway. Why would Henry be facetiming him now? He was supposed to have a museum event, one that Alex was planning to attend after his class ended. 

“What’s up, babe?” Alex asks as soon as he picks up. 

Henry looks pale and at first Alex thinks he’s sick. “Alex, there are over 200 people here for my talk. There are actually more outside, but we had to cut it off at 200 because of fire codes.” He hears the high-pitched strain in Henry’s voice, and can see him breathing fast and shallow. 

“Henry, sweetheart, it’s gonna be fine. Just find your one person, okay? You got this.” 

Henry nods but it does nothing to reassure Alex. 

“Alex, I hate to ask because I know you’re in the middle of class but--” 

“I'll be right there, babe. I’m gonna hang up and get a Lyft or whatever and I’ll be there in like 20 minutes, okay?”

“I would...thank you, Alex. It would really help to have a friendly face in the audience.” Henry exhales deeply enough that Alex worries a tiny bit less. He darts back into the classroom to grab his jacket. “Sorry, family emergency,” he tells his teacher as he bolts back out. 

It doesn’t get better. The next time Henry takes David out for a walk, photographers follow him while he picks up poop. Alex tells him he should’ve offered them the bags. Henry seems to be adjusting, mostly, but Alex is still worried about him. The next day, after Henry comes home from work, Alex asks him to sit down. 

Henry looks worried. “Is everything all right, love?” 

Alex sits on the sofa and angles his body toward Henry’s. When Henry tries to take his hand, Alex gently pulls it away, watching the way Henry’s face falls. It kills him, but if this is going to end it should probably end now. Before he’s in too deep. 

“Babe, I just wanted to tell you,” Alex looks down at Henry’s bare feet, resting on a rug Alex’s mother bought him when he moved to New York. And it seems so unbearably domestic that he almost changes his mind. But he has to give Henry an out, it’s only fair.

“To, um, tell you, that if…” Alex sucks in a gulp of air, “if you want out, if you don’t want to be in this relationship anymore, I would totally understand.” 

Henry stares at him, his face unreadable. Alex thinks again that Henry would be an amazing actor. “Alex,” he says slowly, “do you think this is, I don’t know, some sort of business partnership? That I can just sign out of it, shake hands, and we’re done?” 

Alex starts to talk but Henry surprises him by climbing in his lap and straddling his hips, pressing him back into the sofa cushions. He leans down to whisper against Alex’s mouth. “I love teaching you things I’m passionate about.” He starts unbuttoning Alex’s shirt. “But you’ve taught me things too, my love. I’ve learned to be brave from you.” Henry sucks so hard on Alex’s neck that all he can do is moan helplessly. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Henry whispers, “unless you,” his tongue darts into Alex’s ear, “tell me to leave.” Henry chuckles and the delicious sound shoots straight to Alex’s dick. “And even if you did, I’d just argue with you,” Henry whispers. 

He slides down Alex’s body until he’s on his knees on the rug. He pulls Alex’s pants down, trailing his fingers down Alex’s thighs as he goes. Alex lifts up enough to help get his pants all the way off, and Henry actually gulps. “Did you go commando all damn day?” he asks. Alex just smirks.

He wants to ask if Henry is sure, if he understands how crazy things could get, especially if the movie is successful...but he only manages to whimper. Henry looks up at him as he takes Alex’s cock in his mouth. Alex just watches Henry’s eyes close, like sucking Alex’s dick is the best thing he could ever imagine doing. Alex buries his hand in Henry's hair, and breathes out words like “sweetheart” and “motherfucker” and “so goddamn beautiful” … and then anything else he was going to say is gone.


	7. Collateral Damage

A couple of weeks later, Alex comes up from the subway and pulls his phone out of his pocket to see four missed calls from Nora. Shit, did he forget an audition? He hits the call button. 

“Alex, have you been on Twitter today?” she asks when she picks up. 

“Fuck. Why?” He doesn’t have any deep, dark secrets. People know he’s bi, well, they think he’s gay and he corrects them when he can, but that’s not a secret. Henry’s not a secret, so what….? 

With a deep sigh, Nora asks, “Henry has a sister?” 

Alex almost drops his phone but he can’t afford to replace the damn thing. He hangs up and opens Twitter. Some British tabloid called the Daily Mail is trending. “American star’s boytoy hiding family drug scandal.” The American tabloids are running similar headlines: “ACD’s boyfriend’s secret shame.” And there are pictures of Bea, lovely, sweet, Bea, who looks like Henry, who has become Alex’s friend. He can’t even cry, he just feels frozen, paralyzed. He tries to scroll through the article and sees that a friend of Bea’s is the source. She was probably offered enough money that she made up stuff just to get her name in the papers. Well, it worked.

Alex calls Henry, his hands shaking as he swipes the call button. It seems like years before Henry answers. 

“Babe, listen, where are you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Go home, and turn off your phone and don’t turn on the tv or--” 

“I’m at my place, Alex. And I already saw it.” There’s a hard edge to Henry’s voice that Alex has never heard before. His voice is almost unrecognizable. “My sister already saw it.” 

“Fuck, baby, listen. We’ll sue them for libel, you can do that if they make stuff up and they’ll have to print a retraction and pay and--” 

“It’s not a lie, Alex. It’s all true.” 

Alex stands still in the middle of a Manhattan sidewalk, people streaming by and bumping his elbow and knocking him sideways. He doesn’t notice any of them. He just sees his life evaporating around him, like waking up from an incredible dream. 

“She started using after our father died, but she’s been clean for years.” Alex can hear Henry trying not to cry, and it is the worst, most wretched sound he has ever heard. “But they are wrong about...I’m not ashamed. Bea isn’t ashamed. I would never be ashamed of her for something like this.” 

“I’m on my way there, just wait for me. We’ll figure this out, okay?” Alex insists. “We’ll figure it out together.” 

Henry hangs up without saying anything more, and Alex thinks about texting Bea, but doesn’t have any idea what to say to her right now. He starts running back toward the subway, before he decides to fuck it and hails the first cab he sees. 

When he gets to Henry’s, he finds him in bed, with David curled up next to him. Alex knows he’s awake. From the sour smell of sweat in the room, Alex knows the panic attack already happened. He undresses and crawls into bed. They don’t speak, don’t even look at each other. Alex just spoons Henry until they both fall asleep. 

***************************** 

The next morning, they're sitting in the living room, Henry cradling a hot mug of tea in both hands. Henry isn’t mad, not at Alex. Alex would almost rather he was, than have to know he caused the hopeless look that’s now on Henry’s face.

Henry’s voice is so slow and precise, like he’s thinking about every word, every syllable, before he says it. “You know I’ve never been completely comfortable with all the attention, but at the end of the day I get to be with you. It’s a trade-off I was willing to make. My privacy in exchange for unbelievable happiness.” 

Alex nods, hopefully. 

“But my sister didn’t sign up for any of this.” Henry’s voice physically hurts Alex, like he’s being stabbed with knives. “What does she get out of it? She just gets the misery, the fucking unfairness of it…” His voice breaks on a sob and Alex thinks he can hear every ounce of pain he caused this person he loves. “It’s all so goddamn unfair, Alex. Why go after her?” 

“Because it’s what these assholes do to make money,” Alex says, swiping at tears, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

“I am so happy with you.” Henry takes a deep breath. Ironically, Alex has never seen him look so sad. “But I can’t have my sister be collateral damage, Alex, I just _can’t_.” 

David whimpers, hopping up next to Henry and snuggling into his side.

“When our father found out the cancer was terminal, he made me promise to take care of my sister. And I said I would, Alex.” Another ragged sob. “I can’t…” 

Alex refuses to look at the dog crate and the suitcase next to the door, like if he ignores them, Henry won’t leave. Henry takes a deep breath. “I’m taking leave from work and going back to England, for a bit. I need to spend some time with my family.” 

Alex can feel the tears streaming down his face. “I understand,” he chokes out. “I tried to call Bea, but...please, tell her I’m sorry. Please.” He looks around, can’t imagine his life without Henry in it. “I’ll call you, okay, baby?” 

Henry looks away from him and Alex feels dread tie his stomach in knots. “I, Alex, please don’t. I just...I need some space.” 

Alex wants to argue, wants to yell and scream and beg but he sees Henry’s face and he just can’t hurt him anymore. He will give Henry whatever he wants, even if it kills him. 

“Okay, okay.” Alex looks away, swipes at his eyes again. “Can I email you? Or text? Or...something?”

“Alex…” Henry pinches the bridge of his nose. “I...won’t say no. But I might not answer.” 

Alex nods quickly. He’ll take whatever Henry is willing to give him. 

Henry looks at his phone. “My Uber is here.” He plops David in the carrier and picks it up. David whimpers at the sudden change in angle and altitude. 

Alex follows them to the door, still crying and sniffling and he hates himself for being a fucking cliché but he’s terrified. 

Henry turns toward Alex, and he’s crying too. Alex hopes that means he’s coming back one day, that this isn’t over. He leans down and pokes his fingers in the crate and David licks them. “Bye buddy, be a good boy on the plane, okay?” 

He straightens up and rests a hand on Henry’s cheek. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had a script to go by. If he can just say the right thing, maybe he can fix all this. Make it so that Bea doesn’t get hurt and Henry is happy and staying with Alex and none of this shit ever happened.

He rubs his thumb over Henry’s cheekbone. Henry closes his eyes and sighs, reaches up to hold Alex’s hand to his face. 

“Go take care of your sister, baby. But please, please don’t forget I love you.” Alex knows he’s begging, but he doesn’t really care. “Please.” 

Henry puts David down and grabs Alex in a fierce hug. “I love you, too.” And Alex hears what Henry doesn’t say. They love each other. It just might not be enough. 

Alex can’t watch him get in the car. He sits down on Henry’s sofa and scrolls through the headlines on his phone. Sees Bea’s beautiful face, the same face Alex first saw in Henry’s cubicle all those months ago. _This is the damage you cause, Alex. This is who you hurt_. He picks up his phone and texts Bea: 

**I know it’s not enough, but I’m so sorry**

Then he drops his head into his hands and sobs like he hasn’t sobbed since he was a little kid.


	8. Like One of Your French Girls

At 11pm the next day, Alex sits down and scrolls through his phone. All day, he has wanted to text Henry just to fill him in on his day. When he got home, he actually called out, “Hey babe?” just out of habit. He stares at his phone for a minute before tossing it aside and picking up his laptop. Henry said he could write, and if this is as long as he expects it to be, he’d rather use a keyboard. 

_Nov 2_

_Henry,_

_I missed you today. I was at an audition and I really sucked. Like, they may never call me back for anything SUCKED. The role was for a coyote, do you know what that is? It’s someone who sneaks people across the border in exchange for money. Horrible people. And apparently, I’m not good enough to play a horrible person, Henry. I know I sucked because I kept thinking about you and it messed with my characterization. Coyotes are supposed to be evil and ruthless, not sad and heartbroken. No one wants a coyote with yucky, messy, feelings...._

He writes another email the next day, and the next day, and the day after that. It becomes his way of downloading the events of his day to Henry, even if Henry never reads them, never responds. They all start the same way…. 

_Nov 5_

_Henry,_

_I missed you today. I signed up for more acting classes. Can’t hurt, right? The teacher is supposed to be this brilliant instructor who gets the best out of her students. She’s British, which sucks for me because I just think of you and your stupid accent and the way you say my name when you come…_

_Sorry, had to take a little...break. I’m back now._

_Missed you just now, too._

_Anyway, I’m going to have trouble paying attention in this class for obvious reasons. I also don’t have anyone to do the stupid acting exercises with. But I love that you see me as an artist and it makes me want to be a better actor. So I guess I’ll have to push through it, like you do..._

_Nov 7_

_Henry,_

_I missed you today. I got paired up to do a scene with a guy in my acting class and he was wearing the same cologne you wear. We had to do an argument scene. I thought I was going to throw up. Apparently, it ‘informed my craft’ or whatever because the teacher said I looked really miserable. She was not wrong..._

_Nov 9_

Henry, 

_I missed you today. They just told me filming starts next month. I’ll have to go to California for about ten days at the beginning of December. Then there’s some studio work in New York, and then some location work in Cairo and Paris. I was hoping you could come. Paris would be romantic, wouldn’t it? We could go to the Louvre, as long as you don’t make me try to pronounce it._

_I keep looking at pictures of us, those stupid selfies we took all the time. Hell, I even looked up your bio on the museum site just to look at your face._

_God, I miss your face._

_I know you say I’m an artist, but I really wish I was. I wish I could draw you, draw your eyes and your cheekbones and your fucking beautiful smile._

_If I took some drawing lessons, would that make you come home to me? What if I was spectacularly bad at it?_

_But if I could draw you, I’d use chalk, I think, to get the peach-pink tone of your skin just right. Then I could use reds and dark pinks to get all the shades you blush, but then I’d think about the reasons you blush and get distracted. There’s probably something I could use besides chalk. This is why I need you here, baby, to tell me these things._

_For your body, I’d have to use clay, like that Richmond guy. I’d have to work my fingers into it, to pull out the definition in your biceps and your thighs, to mold your ass, to create your gorgeous…...you know what, never mind. If I ever get hacked by these motherfuckers I don’t need them finding my poetic descriptions of your, um, anatomy. But I’ll tell you all about it when you come home._

_I’d never be happy as an artist. Because I know right now that I’d never be able to create anything that would do you justice, and it would drive me insane. Is that why that one guy cut his ear off?_

_I miss your voice. I haven't had an interesting conversation since you left. Absolutely no one has used the word ‘heteronormative’ in casual conversation, and I’m realizing how much I miss that._

_I thought about going to the museum to walk around but it hurt too much to even think about. I can’t be there without you._

_I love you._

_Nov 10_

_Henry,_

_I missed you today. I came home from bombing out on three auditions (well, I maybe got the sitcom role but it’s like two lines) and I turned the tv on and there was a Star Wars marathon. It made me remember how wrong you were about the best movie. I still think Empire is the obvious choice for the best of the trilogy, but I’m coming around to thinking you might not be completely wrong. Jedi isn’t terrible, I guess. And nothing is as bad as the prequels. We shall never speak of them._

_I miss you. I want to give you space, I do. But I can’t lie. I want you to come back to me. I love you. Please take care of your sister and your family and do whatever you have to do. But then come home._

On November 18, Alex considers maybe not writing an email today. Maybe it’s too overwhelming for Henry. Maybe he’s pushing too hard. Maybe he needs to just get over… 

No. It can’t be over yet. It was too amazing and beautiful and perfect and he won’t give up yet. But maybe it’s okay to skip one email. He’ll just write an extra long one tomorrow. 

He’s walking home when his phone starts to blow up. He swipes the screen and sees 13, 14, 15 new email notifications. 

What in the ever-loving hell? Why would he get that many emails at once? Maybe he got hacked. That would figure. 

He opens up the email app and sees a reply from Henry dated November 2. What the fuck? 

_Nov 2_

_My dearest Alex,_

_I missed you today, too. I have heard of coyotes, actually. Perhaps your audition will be groundbreaking and give new dimension to the role..._

_Nov 5_

_Dearest love,_

_I missed you today, too. Perhaps you should find a different acting class?_

_Nov 7_

_Dearest Alex,_

_I missed you today, too. Was your classmate attractive? I would still like you to find a different acting class, but I’ll try to respect your professional choices..._

_Nov 9_

_My dearest love,_

_I missed you too. California would be nice in December, when the weather is so horrid in New York. And Paris with you would be indescribably lovely._

_I’m sure you have hidden artistic talents. I fully support you taking lessons, if you would enjoy that. You could paint me like one of your French girls. That’s a reference to the film Titanic, since I know your movie preferences run to dark fantasy and heteronormative science fiction (see what I did there?)_

_And while it would certainly indicate some mental instability, it is widely believed Van Gogh sent his mutilated ear to a prostitute as a romantic gesture. Please don’t get any ideas. Just send me flowers._

_Nov 10_

_Darling,_

_I missed you today, too. I’m sure you didn’t bomb anything. And I will continue my campaign to make you see the light regarding Endor and Ewoks when I come back. Honestly, who hates Ewoks? It’s like hating puppies. And I know you don’t hate puppies._

_David misses you too..._

Alex walks through the paparazzi crowd at his stoop, which is smaller today than usual. Maybe some other actor has been crowned the Next Big Thing. Alex has never been so damned grateful to be relatively overlooked. He unlocks his door and drops his backpack, not taking his eyes off his phone. He’s scrolling as fast as he can through the new messages, not really reading them. Why would Henry reply to them all today? He fumbles behind himself without looking, taking three attempts to lock the door. He’s decided to skip to the last email when a wet nose nudges up under his pant leg. 

“Hey, buddy, hang on a sec,” he says, reaching down to pet David with one hand while he scrolls… 

He looks down. “David?”

David wiggles his butt so hard he's almost knocking himself in the head with his own tail. Alex drops to his knees and grabs him in a sloppy, wet hug, his tears dropping onto the dog’s head. “David!” He looks up and starts to call out, but he doesn’t have to. 

Henry is leaning in the doorway to the living room, arms folded across his chest. He’s smiling but Alex can see his eyes are wet too. “I swear my dog likes you better than he likes me,” Henry says. 

Alex leaps up from the floor and launches himself into Henry’s arms. He holds him tightly, just as tightly as Henry is holding him. He leans back just enough to bracket Henry’s cheeks with his palms. “Oh, baby, I missed your _face_ ,” he says, with the little bit of air he can muster. He lets go so he can wrap himself back around his boyfriend. 

“I know,” Henry whispers into his ear. “I read your emails. I replied to every single one the day you wrote them and saved the replies, but I didn't send them until I came back.” He tugs at Alex’s hair just enough to pull his head back and see his face. “I missed you, too, every wretched day. I love you.” He pulls Alex back into him and Alex presses his face into the crook of Henry’s neck. 

“I love you I love you I love you,” Alex murmurs, desperately pressing the words into Henry’s skin.

Henry laughs when they both look down to see David between them, whimpering and wagging his entire body so he bumps up against their legs. “I love you too, buddy,” Alex assures him, wiping the tears from his own face. He sits down and lets David crawl into his lap. David spins himself in a circle before finally sitting down with a satisfied huff, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor. 

Henry drops down too and sits next to Alex, reaching for his hand. 

Alex has a horrifying thought and his heart starts pounding again. “Wait. Are you really back? Or are you just here to pack up the rest of your apartment and flee the country?” 

“I’m really back,” Henry assures him. “But to be honest, I have been thinking of packing up my apartment.” The mischievous glint in his eyes keeps Alex from panicking. “My lease is ending in two months. I don’t want to push things too quickly, but, how would you feel about a roommate?” 

Alex laughs, too hard and too loud but he’s so giddy with relief he can’t help it. “I would…” he tilts his head, gazing at Henry, still hardly believing he’s really here, “...absolutely love a roommate.” Alex tries to look innocent, but even he’s not that good of an actor. “You know anyone?”

Henry grabs Alex by the shirt collar and kisses the smartass smirk off his face. 

“How’s Bea?” Alex asks, when he’s caught his breath. He keeps petting David with one hand and holds Henry’s hand with the other. Henry’s other hand strokes up and down Alex’s leg. They can’t stop touching each other. 

“She’s good,” Henry nods, mirroring Alex’s bright smile. Alex reaches up to rub his thumb over the corner of Henry’s mouth. God, he missed that mouth. 

“She’s okay with you coming back here?” 

Henry laughs. “She’s a more mature person than I am, apparently. I believe her last words to me were, “I’m a goddamn grown woman and I’m fine. Now get your arse on that plane and get back to your man.” 

Alex half-laughs, half-sobs, relief coursing through his body. He leans over David and wraps himself around Henry. “You should listen to your sister.” 

They fall into bed and stay there all day, stopping only to order food and take David for walks. Alex is fucked out and half-awake around noon the next day when both of their phones ping at the same time. Henry reaches for his on the nightstand and they look at it together, Alex leaning on Henry’s arm. It’s an Instagram post from Bea, with a picture of her sobriety chip. 

_Wouldn’t it be wonderful if people never had to ‘come out’ as anything? As gay, as bisexual, as recovering addicts…? What if we just wore our pasts proudly on our chests, and everyone who walked by could see what’s in our hearts. See what we have overcome. What if we didn’t worry about prejudice in others and instead focused on our own personal growth?_

_I am not ashamed of my past. I am not ashamed of the work I put into my recovery. I am an addict. I have been clean for four years, but I will always be an addict._

_I am not ashamed of my brother. He is loyal and loving and intelligent and passionate and creative. And he is gay. And he’s in a relationship with a wonderful man who loves him._

_We will not be ashamed of who we are._

_“At the end of the day we can endure much more than we think we can.”_ \--Frida Kahlo

Alex realizes his face is wet. He looks up at Henry, then reaches for his own phone and opens Instagram. They both like her post at the same time. Alex wants to Facetime her but Henry insists on waiting until they both have shirts on, at least. 

“She’s my sister, Alex.” 

“She knows you have sex.” 

“I prefer not to continue this discussion. Now put on a shirt, please, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to point out that this chapter led to Beth crowning me Snowflake Queen, for using the word 'heteronormative' twice in one chapter. 
> 
> Bow down when you address me please.


	9. Slow dancing in a museum

They take the train to Alex’s mom and stepdad’s house for Thanksgiving, where Henry finally gets to meet June. They get along so well Alex would be jealous, if it didn’t make him so fucking happy. Right after they get back to New York, Alex has to pack for California. Henry flies out on one of the weekends to watch the shoot and just spend time with Alex. He doesn’t even mind watching them film a scene where Alex has to kiss his co-star, but he does make a show of wiping her lipstick off of Alex’s lips before he kisses him. The actress, who’s dating the director, just laughs. They’re out in the middle of nowhere, so Alex and Henry have nothing to do but stay at the hotel together. They manage to find ways to entertain themselves. 

Alex gets his first payment for the movie. He’s never had so much money in his bank account at once. He immediately buys Henry’s Christmas gift, makes a reservation for dinner at a fancy restaurant for the two of them, and makes a donation to a rehab program in honor of Bea. He can’t bring himself to spend much more, he’s been an actor for years now and knows this money may have to last him for a long, long time. He’d really rather not have to go back to bartending and temp work. 

They spend Christmas together, exchanging gifts at Alex’s place, because Henry’s is stuffed with moving boxes. Henry gives Alex a snowglobe of Luke in the ice cave on Hoth and a paint by numbers portrait of Frida Kahlo.

Alex gives Henry a print of a Hockney painting he loves, and promises that one day when he’s rich, he’ll buy him the real thing. David gets a new sweater and dog toys and they only take a few hundred pictures of him wearing reindeer antlers. Henry agrees to let Alex post a cute picture of the three of them on Instagram. Alex tells Henry they’re controlling the media narrative from here on out. 

They get a ton of support from the public. Celebrities, queer and straight, come out in support of them and against the tabloids, especially since Bea is a private citizen and not a celebrity. Henry’s boss, who it turns out has a daughter who’s also a recovering addict, decides to offer up the museum for a celebrity fundraiser. Nothing as big as the Met Gala, but big enough. They decide that half the money raised will go to a drug rehab program for women, and the other half to a shelter for LGBTQ youth that just opened in the city. Alex loves the idea and the support, but he especially loves the chance to see Henry in a tux. 

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, when Henry steps out of Alex’s tiny bathroom. “You look like James Bond.” 

Henry’s mouth falls open a little, too, as his eyes sweep over Alex’s body in formal wear. “Erm, I…err...” Alex’s hands are suddenly everywhere, and Henry moans and grunts but eventually grabs Alex by the shoulders and pushes him firmly away. “Alex, we have to go. The car will be here any minute, and my boss will notice if we’re late.” Alex laughs and reaches up to straighten Henry’s bow tie, which he messed with when he was sucking on his throat. “Okay, but we’re going to continue this later.”

There’s a red carpet leading up the steps to the museum entrance, with photographers and reporters, just like at a movie premiere. Alex feels right at home, even though until recently he’s been one of the minor celebrities no one clamors for. He grabs Henry’s hand and holds it...less of a romantic gesture and more because he’s afraid Henry will bolt if he doesn’t. He leans in to whisper, “It’s okay, sweetheart, just look at me if you get nervous.” Henry turns to look into Alex’s eyes and Alex beams up at him. “I’ll always be your one person, Henry.” They kiss, and the camera flashes are blinding. 

When they get into the Great Hall, Alex can’t help but stare at everything. He’s been here before, with Henry, but it never looked like this. Tonight it’s been turned into something magical. 

Mesmerizing light patterns are being projected on the walls and the ceiling. When he finally stops staring, Alex looks over at Henry, who is smiling indulgently.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks. 

Alex just nods, speechless. 

“I’ve had to attend these before, but I’ve never, erm, brought a date. I usually snuck off after a bit and sat in the archives, reading.” Henry leans into Alex’s ear, so he can be heard over the crowd noise, and points off to one side. “The dinner will be in that wing over there.” He points in the other direction, “and afterward there will be dancing and drinks over there.” 

Alex nods. “I still think it’s kinda weird to slow dance in a museum, but I’m up for getting to fondle you in public.” 

Henry rolls his eyes and smiles. “Really? I think it’s quite romantic.” He raises Alex’s hand and spins him once, startling a laugh out of him. “Dancing in a place that holds so much history.” With his other hand, he strokes Alex’s cheek, “and so much beauty.” 

Alex shakes his head, feels the burn of a blush where Henry touched him. “Sap.” 

Henry rests his forehead against Alex’s. “Guilty as charged.”

By the end of the night, Alex has changed his mind. Dancing in a museum really _is_ kind of romantic. It would be more romantic, though, if it was just the two of them. While Henry is chatting with a coworker, Alex sneaks off to talk to the event coordinator to find out if it’s possible to rent the museum for more private events. 

“Absolutely!” she tells him. “Are you thinking of a movie event? Like a premiere?” He can see the bright glee and dollar signs in her eyes. 

“Something like that,” Alex tells her, amused. “And if I wanted to do something smaller, keep it to just a few people, that’s okay?” _Two, really_ , he thinks to himself. 

“Of course, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. If you rent it out, it’s up to you how you use it.” 

Alex thanks her, takes the card she shoves at him, and walks away. He looks at Henry across the room, practically shimmering in the red and gold lights illuminating the room. There’s something about him in this light, with his perfect features surrounded by gold and marble, that makes Alex think Henry could’ve been royalty in another life. Or maybe one of those gay Greek gods he likes to talk about.

Alex imagines one day bringing Henry to this place that makes him feel closer to his father, that he’s always loved like a second home. He imagines looking up at that beautiful face from one knee. Maybe he’ll do it on the roof, but with Alex’s luck they’d get stuck in the damn elevator again. Maybe he’ll ask in front of Henry’s favorite painting, or next to one of the pieces he showed Alex those first couple of days. That’ll really piss off the ghost of that queen. Alex may not know exactly where he’s going to propose, but he’s absolutely certain it’s going to happen...one of these days. 

“Yeah,” he says to himself, not noticing that Henry has come up beside him.

“Yeah, what?” Henry asks. 

Alex jumps a little, then relaxes as Henry’s hand rests at the small of his back. “Nothing, sweetheart.” He turns, takes Henry’s hand in his, and smiles. “Dance with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS!! If you want to see a real-life (adorable) couple basically live out Alex and Henry's experience at the Met:  
> https://www.metmuseum.org/150/met-stories?v=four-stories-of-finding-romance-at-the-met-love-met-stories-ep-12
> 
> Watch Chapter 3, starts at 4:00
> 
> I would like to say for the record I saw this AFTER I wrote this story!! 
> 
> Photo credits: 
> 
> Anything from the Met is from the metmuseum.org website. 
> 
> Wampa snow globe: 
> 
> https://www.ebay.com/itm/Wampa-Cave-Snow-Globe-Star-Wars-Empire-Strikes-Back-Hoth-Luke-LN-19126-343-011-/312896914269
> 
> Frida Kahlo paint by number kit: 
> 
> https://lemonadepuzzles.com/collections/paint-by-number/products/turquoise-frida-with-flowers-paint-by-number-kit


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